Back in 1996, horror-movie director Wes Craven redefined the slasher genre by making a slasher film about people who had watched slasher films. That is to say, with one shrill Scream, Craven and screenwriter Kevin Williamson created characters who knew the homicidal futility of answering the phone, running up the stairs, walking past dimly lit doorframes, and daring to utter the death-warrant words I’ll be right back when a ghost-faced fiend is bumming around with a butcher’s knife. The film was a huge critical and commercial success, with cinema buffs tickled pink with the self-referential writing and audiences suitably bejesused by the set-piece slayings. Rated 18, it packed a grisly punch and spawned two sequels before heroine Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell) got to grips with caller ID and retirement from being the worst friend to have since Jessica Fletcher.
More than a decade later, and the Scream series gets a long awaited fourgy of blood-splattered babes and knowing dweebs to torture and dice up, with typical humour and red herrings to throw you off the scent. This time round Sidney’s made the rather foolish decision to add her old stomping ground of Woodsboro onto the list of stops of her book promotion junket. And wouldn’t you know it, it’s not long after she rolls into town when her niece (Emma Roberts) and chums get turned to chump by Sidney’s biggest fan.
The cast represents a winking mix of horror movie alumni and the fresh wave of American starlets. Courtney Cox, as ever, has the most fun and meatiest dialogue, reprising her role as seasoned reporter/all-round bitch Gale Weathers, now settled in suburbia as a desperate housewife to a much sidelined David Arquette’s Dewey. Campbell continues to teeter between brittle and ballsy as perma-victim Sid, and as the new Sidney (Sid-B?), Roberts continues to develop as a film-carrying actress – this time adding running and screaming to her skillset. Of the new kids on the chopping block, however, it’s Hayden Panettiere’s Kirby who shines as the one you’d most like to see in the sequel, but who, after cutting her teeth as an indestructible cheerleader, you’ll also want to see gutted like a fish.
Some bold statements are made in the film. Less of a shriekuel, more of a screamake, as its replacement Randies say. Seemingly, the much-touted rules seem to have changed when it comes to surviving this particular Woodsboro whodunit. At least that’s what everyone keeps telling you, even the poster. New decade, new rules. But, it’s just not true, really. All right, it starts with a devilishly stacked sleight-of-hand pre-credits massacre, but then it’s same old same old when it comes to rank-and-file stalking and slashing.
See, once you scratch beneath the high definition photography with the CGI-ed knife blade, Scream 4 looks and sounds an awful lot like the rest of the braying chorus. The death scenes are frequent, repetitive and forgettable, the nubile newbies largely underdeveloped, and the juvenile 16 certificate highlights the pedestrian peril facing our heroes. The now-expected third arc twist is actually pretty brave, but pandering to the series’ established stars sadly leaves it flatlining. Furthermore, the Scream films have always been self-aware, essentially that’s the point at the end of the dagger, but here the Meta meat is overcooked to the point where the characters repeatedly describe their plight as Meta. Meta Meta?! It’s beginning to sound like McLuhanacy. What next, having Ghostface wink to the audience?
Scream 4 is a funny slasher-comedy that could do with a few more thrills than banter-baiting kills.
3 Likes.
3 Likes.
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